Chapter XI “Memories of Long Ago.”
“It’s very difficult to remember things clearly,” said old Deva, meditatively. “There’s mother now, and what she said, and then grandmother, and how many did she say there were before her, all slaves like me? It was granny’s grandmother that was made the first slave, and she was born a princess—at least, so grannie said; but perhaps she didn’t know,” and the poor old woman sank into a reverie, from which brother Malachi roused her by saying gently:
“But who lived in these ruins, mother? Canst thou tell us who they were that built these buildings, and made this beautiful pavement?”
“Aye, that I can; they were my own forefathers—at least, some of them were. Those must have been lovely days, when the land was tilled in peace, each man worshipped God as He ought to be worshipped, and there was plenty and goodwill throughout the length and breadth of the land.... But those days will never come again! There’s naught but ravaging, and murdering, and starving, and no one left to tell us the way of salvation. And, thank the Lord, I shall soon depart, and there’s none left after me to mourn her weary life out as I have mourned mine.”
“Dost really mean to say, Deva, that thou art the daughter of a princess?” said Wulfstan, wonderingly.
“Aye, that I am, for all my rags, and my old age, and my ugliness—— No! not daughter—what am I talking about?—but descended from one, just as thy father is always saying he is descended from Cerdic. And now I come to think about it, I must be a good two lives nearer to my princess than thy father to his Cerdic, for I am old enough to be Ælfhere’s grandmother. My ancestress was the daughter of Natanleod, and he ruled all this land before thy Saxons or Jutes came here.”
“Natanleod,” said Malachi, repeating the name as if he had heard it before, but could not quite recollect where. “There were some people who came to a place near my home who told me of a great prince or king who, when the Angles first came over to Britain, had fought a great fight against them; but, as it was a long time ago, they could not remember much about it, but I think his name sounded like Natanleod. I know they said he was a Christian, and they thought he was killed in a battle; and now I come to think of it, they mentioned the very name Cerdic, who thou sayest was Ælfhere’s ancestor, as the name of the heathen who was attacking him.”
“How odd it would be if you had met some of old Deva’s relations!” said Wulfstan.
“Ah, my child, they were scattered far over the earth,” said Deva, mournfully. “Some went to a place called Ierné,1 some to a country over the water called—called—my old memory won’t help me now, but it sounded like ‘Morick.’”
“Was it Armorica, mother?” said Malachi.
“Why, that was the name, to be sure. Now how didst thou know that? They’ve called me witch-wife many a time, because they said I knew more than human beings ought to know, but my knowledge is ignorance to what thine is.”
“It is nothing so very wonderful, mother. Those same strangers I told thee of often told me where their people went to, and many a time they would have liked to have crossed the sea again to meet those of their kith and kin that were scattered abroad.”
“Well, well. And maybe thou hast met with those that really were my blood. Ah, they would not be proud of poor old Deva, the slave daughter of Helva, a slave too. How things do change, to be sure!”
“But, mother,” put in Malachi, who thought he saw signs in her of going off into a reverie again, “what about this house? Thou hast not told us yet who built it.”
“And how do I know who built it?” said the old woman, testily.
“Why, thou saidest just now thy forefathers built it,” said Wulfstan.
“Then if I told him, why does he ask me again?” said Deva, wearily. “I shall go and see how the wounded eorldoman is.”
“Don’t go yet, Deva,” said Malachi. “He was sleeping very well when I came to look at these pavements, and we should hear him if he moved or wanted anything. And so thou art descended from the great Prince Natanleod, art thou! In those days men were indeed cleverer than they are now. There are none living near here who could work like those who made these walls or wrought these pictures. Thou canst not remember what thy grandmother said about the destruction of her grandmother’s home?”
“Yes I can, though,” said Deva. “Ah! well I can remember her telling me, for she would take me up here on a summer’s evening when the young moon was just going down there behind yon hill. These floors were not covered up so much then, and many stones have fallen down since. She would always choose that evening in the month when the moon was like that, and it was getting dark and dusk—a time when all the land is hushed, and young men and maidens like to meet by a lonely hillside or pleasant dell, while the cockchafers buzz and the beetles boom. Because, she said, it was on an evening like that her grandmother had always told her the story, and it was on an evening like that the dreadful deed was done. They came, they came,” said the old woman, stretching out her skinny arm and pointing with most dramatic action to a large gap in the ruins towards the land-locked Brædynge Haven, whose shining waters could be seen framed in this very gap, “up there”——
But Deva did not finish her sentence, for both Wulfstan and Malachi, who had followed the old woman’s action and gesture, broke in upon her words with a wild and simultaneous cry that rang through the silence of the ruins, like the shrill scream of an affrighted sea-bird, as it suddenly espies the robber of its nest suspended overhead.
There, entering by the same gap through which their ancestors had come to slaughter the ancestors of Deva, was a band of armed men, who, the moment they saw that their approach was known, added to the din and confusion that already prevailed by shouting their battle-cry together, and rushing upon the few men who, with Athelhune, were left to defend the encampment.
Malachi and Wulfstan had, as they shouted “to arms,” darted back into the enclosure, nearly fenced in by this time, fortunately, and had with great promptitude begun to pile up the stones that had been left to close in the only means of exit or entrance for the little fortification, when suddenly Wulfstan darted out again, and returned in another minute helping poor old Deva over the rough stones.
“One moment more, and I should have been too late,” cried Wulfstan, joyously, as he led the good old woman up to his father’s side.
“It’s only putting off the fated day, Wulfy, a little longer,” said Ælfhere, drearily. “But this torture is worse than all that has gone before, for I must lie here and see all who are faithful to me and my little son slain before my eyes, and I unable to move hand or foot, or strike a blow for their safety. Oh! Woden, all-Father, help me!”
It was, indeed, a hopeless prospect. There were, besides Malachi, old Deva, Wulfstan, and the wounded eorldoman, only Athelhune and three men, and the attacking force consisted of at least twelve; but the quick eyes of Wulfstan detected among them five or six faces of men he had known as ceorls on his father’s farm, and he shouted out loudly to them by name, calling on them to turn on the false traitors who had done such foul wrong, and to fight for their lord, Ælfhere, who was still alive.
It did not seem, however, that his words produced any effect; for the band of men, seeing that their surprise had in part failed owing to the inner line of wall that had been raised, after consulting a moment together, advanced on three sides, with the evident intention of taking the little fort by assault.
At first sight it seemed as though nothing could save the little party inside the hastily contrived defences, and this was evidently the view of their assailants, who rushed on to the attack in all the confidence of an easy victory; but the very extremity of their position supplied the defenders with the courage of despair.
Athelhune, with the quick apprehension of one suited to command, had heard with pleasure Wulfstan’s words, and hastily told him to point out to him the men whom he had addressed. Two were advancing on the side where Athelhune and Wulfstan were standing.
Judging, that if the men who were Arwald’s own people, and who had come from the other part of the island, could be disposed of, the other men would be less likely to fight with any vigour, especially if they knew that they would be received into favour again by their old eorl’s son; Athelhune shouted out to his men to kill the traitors who came with Arwald, but to spare the poor fellows who were compelled to fight against their will for a tyrant and robber they hated; and he immediately hurled a stone with all his force at the man who seemed to be the leader of the party. The blow was warded off by the man’s shield, but in raising his arm to do this he exposed himself to a spear thrust which Beornwulf, who was standing near Athelhune, promptly gave him; and although the man, with great heroism, continued to struggle on, yet his blows lost much of their force, and eventually he fell fainting to the ground.
Meanwhile it was already obvious that Athelhune’s well-judged words, added to Wulfstan’s expostulations, had had their effect, and had also been useful in a way Athelhune had not thought of; for the men who were from the other part of the island were now evidently suspicious of their allies, who had given some grounds for it by not pressing up quite so eagerly as the others had done; and this very consciousness of mistrust served to make the men work less heartily together.
It was quite clear to the man who succeeded to the leadership of the assailants on the fall of Athelhune’s antagonist that what had got to be done must be done by his own men, and that the others would join in heartily enough as soon as they saw success attending their efforts. Being, therefore, a brave and energetic man, he called to his men to follow him, and sprang at the wall.
The defences had been raised nearly eight feet high, and a rude platform had been made about four feet high all round inside; thus the defenders had the advantage of striking down at their foe, as well as being protected by the breastwork of the wall. The walls were, however, very imperfectly made, without any mortar or cement; if, therefore, any of the defenders were to push too violently against it in places, he was liable to displace some of the upper stones, and expose himself. This, however, was not such a disadvantage as at first sight it seemed, for the second leader, leaping up to grasp the top of the wall, in order to pull himself over, had seized a stone that was insecurely placed, and being at the same time pressed upon by Beornwulf above, who was waiting to strike with his spear the moment the man came within thrusting distance, the mass gave way, and came down with the man, falling upon him, and crushing his legs with its weight. The two men who were behind him, and who were bold enough, caring more for the destruction of their foes than for the safety of their friends, sprang on to the step thus offered, and were climbing into the breach when they were resolutely met by Athelhune and Beornwulf, and a hand-to-hand fight of a desperate nature began.
The other half-hearted assailants were either making weak attempts to climb over the wall, or were trying to pull their crushed leader from under the weight of the stone that was lying upon his legs, and which was now rendered doubly heavy by the warrior, who was fiercely exchanging blows with Athelhune, using it as a standing place.
This desire for the safety of their fallen leader was more ostentatious than genuine, and was certainly not conducive either to his comfort or the success of the assault; for the only immediate result was to extort the fiercest execrations from the crushed leader, who suffered untold agonies by their wrenching his limbs from under the weight, and had the further consequence of causing their champion, who was engaged in the hand-to-hand fight with Athelhune, to reel on the unsteady stone. He thus missed a favourable, and what would have probably been a decisive blow at his antagonist, and received instead the full force of a tremendous stroke from Athelhune’s axe, which toppled him down off the stone upon the men who were pulling at his chieftain.
Thus Athelhune was relieved of his assailant at a very opportune moment, for his neighbour, Beornwulf, was being hard driven by the Wihtwara, who was a powerful, resolute man, and, having scrambled up to the top of the wall, was more than a match for Beornwulf, who had hardly recovered from his late wound inflicted by Ceolwulf in the Andredesweald, and who was, besides, somewhat weak from want of food. Athelhune, having disposed of his foeman, turned in an instant to Beornwulf’s help, and with a swinging blow of his axe shore through the leathern gaiters of the Wihtwara, as he stood striking down at Beornwulf. The force of the blow was so terrific that it not only severed the leg completely below the knee, but inflicted a deep gash in the other leg, and the wretched man fell headlong upon Beornwulf inside the fortification.
Meanwhile things had not been going quite so well on the other side of Athelhune. The two men who were defending that part of the little fort were Boseham men, and had not had experience of fighting like the body-guard of Cædwalla; they were, besides, physically inferior, being weakened by the long famine from which they, in common with the rest of the South Saxons, had been suffering; they also mistook the efforts of the old ceorls of Ælfhere for really hostile intentions, and were proportionately dispirited at the unequal nature of the contest.
The result, therefore, of the first onset had been the breaking down of the hastily-constructed defences in front, and the entry of two of Arwald’s men, closely followed by three of their Brædynge allies. The two Boseham men were forced back, still fighting, and were left by the leading Wihtwara of Arwald’s party to be disposed of by the others behind him.
He himself made a rush for where the wounded Eorldoman Ælfhere was lying, and without a pause waved his gleaming axe over the defenceless eorl’s head. The axe rose, flashed, descended, but at the same instant two other forms had darted forward, another flash of steel almost simultaneous with that of the Wihtwara glanced in the air, and the spear of Wulfstan, driven with all the energy of rage and despair nerving his boyish strength, pierced the heart of the man who was about to murder his father; but Wulfstan’s blow would have been too late had it not been for another interposition. Brother Malachi, seeing inevitable death awaiting Ælfhere, had rushed forward, and being without any weapon to ward off the blow, had without a moment’s thought thrust out his arms to intercept the stroke. With a fortunate instinct he had held them high up, so that the blow had not gathered full force, but the axe inflicted a fearful wound, and Malachi’s arm dropped useless to his side. But he had done his work, he had gained his object, and he sank to the ground with a sense of gratification as he saw the Wihtwara fall. There was now only one determined foe left, for the rest of the assailants, who had at no time shown any great desire to come to close quarters, were now evidently wavering, and seeing that Athelhune and Beornwulf had disposed of their antagonists, and were coming hastily to assist the Boseham men and Wulfstan, they drew together and retreated outside the enclosure, the Wihtwara belonging to Arwald going with them. Wulfstan could hardly believe in their good fortune; it seemed impossible that four armed men only, a monk, and a boy should have been able to resist the determined attack of twelve men. Had these been all animated with the same spirit as the six followers of Arwald they certainly could not have made much of a fight of it; but the lucky recognition of his father’s ceorls by Wulfstan, and Athelhune’s well-timed speech, had turned the scale, and they were masters of the field.
But Athelhune was not satisfied with that; springing on to the wall he shouted out to the Brædynge men to return to their eorldoman, who was waiting to reward them for their services, and who had recognised how skilfully they had managed to baffle the attempts of his enemies. He also told Wulfstan to call to them by name, and invite them to come and see their lord.
These words had their due effect, and the men came in with a sheepish air to look at their wounded master, and to salute him with respectful words. Two or three of them with greater presence of mind suddenly turned upon the only follower of Arwald still alive or unwounded, and disarmed him, accomplishing the feat so quickly as to allow him no time to defend himself.
This was a very hopeful sign of their returning fidelity, and Athelhune saw it with very visible satisfaction; but, like a prudent commander, he would take no rest until he knew what had become of Ceolwulf, for he could not disguise from himself the danger that so small a party as only three men ran, now that he knew the enemy were aware of their arrival and whereabouts.
He thought the best thing to do, therefore, would be to send off three of the most trustworthy of the ceorls to look for Ceolwulf, tell him what had happened, and hasten his return with the much-needed supplies, the want of which was now more than ever felt. Wulfstan having told him who were the men he liked best, he sent them off, and then turned to examine the results of the fight.
His first care was for Malachi, whose heroism and self-sacrifice had raised him to a pinnacle of glory. The wound he had received was of a ghastly nature; the axe had struck the arm below the elbow, had cut to the bone, and then glanced sideways, inflicting a desperate gash, and poor Malachi had already fainted from loss of blood. But Athelhune had seen plenty of wounds of a worse kind than this; indeed, the one he had himself just now given to his antagonist was of a far more terrible nature, and he did not doubt that Malachi would recover. He quickly picked a handful of grass, the softest he could find, placed it firmly over and round the wound, then tore off a piece of the dead Wihtwara’s tunic, and bound the arm tightly up. Finally, making a sling, and suspending it round Malachi’s neck, and inserting the arm in it, he had him placed under the shelter by Ælfhere’s side. Then, leaving Deva and Wulfstan to watch over the two wounded men, he went out to see what had become of the other Wihtwaras.
The first man lay dead, close to the wall; near him lay the second leader, still unable to move, for both his legs were broken, and the stone yet rested on them; across him lay the warrior who had nearly killed Athelhune, and who lay face downwards, his helmet cut through, and showing clear evidence of what a well-delivered blow from an English battle-axe could do: he was stone dead. Inside the fortification lay the other man, whose leg had been shorn off by Athelhune; he was fast bleeding to death: nothing could be done for him, even if they had felt inclined. Near the cabin, where Ælfhere and Malachi were placed, was lying the other Wihtwara, with Wulfstan’s spear still in him; and not far off was the captured follower of Arwald, sitting disconsolate and sulky, with his hands and feet tied fast.
Of Athelhune’s little party only two had received wounds, and those very slight. Wulfstan was unhurt, and had forgotten all about his hunger in the joy of having slain his first enemy, and, more than all, saved his father. The rest of the men were talking together, and already Beornwulf and the Boseham men were fraternising with their late foes, who were offering to go and bring some refreshments, when a distant trampling announced the arrival of a considerable body of some sort.
Athelhune directly ordered the men to their posts, and urged them hastily to repair the walls, and then sent one of the Brædynge men to reconnoitre.
There were a few minutes of breathless suspense, for had a fresh enemy appeared it would have fared badly with the weary and scanty defenders. Suddenly a loud cheer relieved their minds, and they knew that Ceolwulf was coming, and bringing them food.
Notes
1 Ireland.